Yemoja is green waters

Olokun, the roaring tides

Thin crabs emerge from the sea, their minions

The sun is the orange ball in blue sky glinting rays off liquid ripples

Curved coconut trees line the bank, branches bowed in worship

Beauty is canoes assembled

Nets cast aside smell of fish and sweat

Few feet away, lithe dark males affix floaters to nets

Flexing bunched biceps, easing white thread onto brown sands

Kegs of palm wine at their feet, awaiting a thirst break


History is the tomb bearing headless Lecquio

Cast in stones, oblivious to the wild air

He stands as guard in front of Awolowo’s ‘prison’

Rusting bathtub, fluffy straw bed, broken toilet

In there, time is 1962

Festivity is coolers and preachers

Shorts, bikinis, and bibles sit in cabanas

Drinks escort meals within excited tourists

Indigene children feed of meat and exotic drinks

The waters snatch escaping phones, toys of modern life


Romance is lazy barefoot strolls

Chasing crabs across wet shore, time forgotten

Desire is sleek passages and tense rods

Heated bodies pleading completion, company forgotten

Climax is shut eyes and gasps, the surrender of wills to passions


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s